The History of Pedagogy

by Gabriel Compayré

The Dialogues of the Dead put on the stage men of all countries and conditions, Charles the Fifth and a monk of Saint-Just, Aristotle and Descartes, Leonardo da Vinci and Poussin, Cæsar and Alexander. History proper, literature, philosophy, the arts, were the subjects of conversations composed, as in the Fables, at different intervals, according to the progress and the needs of the Duke of Bourgogne. These were attractive pictures that came from time to time to be introduced into the scheme for the didactic study of universal history. They should be taken only for what they were intended to be,—the pleasing complement to a regular and consecutive course of instruction. Fénelon knew better than any one else that history is interesting in itself, and that to make the study of it interesting, it is sufficient to present it to the childish imagination with clearness, with vivacity, and with feeling.

192. Variety of Disciplinary Agents.—The education of the Duke of Bourgogne is the practical application of Fénelon’s principles as to the necessity of employing an insinuating gentleness rather than an authority which dryly commands. There are to be no sermons, no lectures, but indirect means of moral instruction. The Duke of Bourgogne was irascible. Instead of reading to him Seneca’s treatise On Anger, this is Fénelon’s device: One morning he has a cabinet-maker come to his apartments, whom he has instructed for the purpose. The prince enters, stops, and looks at the tools. “Go about your business, Sir,” cries the workman, who assumes a most threatening air, “for I am not responsible for what I may do; when I am in a passion, I break the arms and legs of those whom I meet.” We guess the conclusion of the story, and how, by this experimental method, Fénelon contrives to teach the prince to guard against anger and its effects.

When indirect means did not answer, Fénelon employed others. It is thus that he made frequent appeals to the self-love of his pupil; he reminded him of what he owed to his name and to the hopes of France. He had him record his word of honor that he would behave well: “I promise the Abbé Fénelon, on the word of a prince, that I will obey him, and that, in case I break my word, I will submit to any kind of punishment and dishonor. Given at Versailles, this 29th day of November, 1689. Signed: Louis.” At other times Fénelon appealed to his feelings, and conquered him by his tenderness and goodness. It is in such moments of tender confidence that the prince said to him, “I leave the Duke of Bourgogne outside the door, and with you I am but the little Louis.” Finally, at other times, Fénelon resorted to the harshest punishments; he sequestered him, took away his books, and interdicted all conversation.

193. Diversified Instruction.—By turns serious and tender, mild and severe, in his moral discipline, Fénelon was not less versatile in his methods of instruction. His dominant preoccupation was to diversify studies—the term is his own. If a given subject of study was distasteful to his pupil, Fénelon passed to another. Although the success of his tutorship seems to be a justification of his course, there is ground for thinking that, as a general rule, Fénelon’s precept is debatable, and that his example should not be followed by making an over-use of amusement and agreeable variety. Fénelon has too often made studies puerile through his attempts to make them agreeable.

194. Results of the Education of the Duke of Bourgogne.—It seems like a paradox to say that Fénelon was too successful in his educational apostleship; and yet this is the truth. Under his hand—“the ablest hand that ever was,” says Saint Simon—the prince became in all respects the image of his master. He was a bigot to the extent of being unwilling to attend a royal ball because that worldly entertainment coincided with the religious celebration of the Epiphany; he was rather a monk than a king; he was destitute of all spirit of initiative and liberty, irresolute, absorbed in his pious erudition and mystic prayers; finally, he was another Telemachus, who could not do without his Mentor. Fénelon had monopolized and absorbed the will of his pupil. He had forgotten that the purpose of education is to form, not a pale copy, an image of the master, but a man independent and free, capable of sufficing for himself.

195. The Telemachus.—The Telemachus, composed from 1694 to 1698, was designed for the Duke of Bourgogne; but he was not to read it, and did not read it, in fact, till after his marriage. Through this epopée in prose, this romance borrowed from Homer, Fénelon purposed to continue the moral education of his pupil. But the book abounds in sermons. “I could have wished,” said Boileau, “that the Abbé had made his Mentor a little less a preacher, and that the moral of the book could have been distributed a little more imperceptibly, and with more art.” At least, they are beautiful and excellent sermons, aimed against luxury, the spirit of conquest, the consequences of absolute power, and against ambition and war. Louis XIV. had probably read the Telemachus, and had comprehended the allusions concealed in the description of the Republic of Salentum, when he said of Fénelon that he was “the most chimerical spirit in his kingdom.” Besides the moral lesson intended for princes, the Telemachus also contains bold reflections on political questions. For example, note the conception of a system of public instruction, very new for the time: “Children belong less to their parents than to the Republic, and ought to be educated by the State. There should be established public schools in which are taught the fear of God, love of country, and respect for the laws.”

196. Bossuet and Fénelon.—Bossuet, as preceptor of the Dauphin,[126] was far from having the same success as Fénelon. Nothing was overlooked, however, in the education of the son of Louis XIV.; and the Letter to Pope Innocent XI. (1679), in which Bossuet presents his scheme of study, gives proof of high fitness for educational work. He recommends assiduous labor, no leaves of absence, and play mingled with study. “A child must play and enjoy himself,” he says. Emulation excited by the presence of other children, who came to compete with the prince; a thorough reading of the Latin authors, explained, not in fragments, as with the Jesuits, but in complete texts; a certain breadth of spirit, since the study of the comic poets—of Terence in particular—was expressly recommended; a familiarity with the Greeks and the Romans, “especially with the divine Homer”; the grammar learned in French; history, “the mistress of human life,” studied with ardor, and presented, first, in its particular facts, in the lessons which the Dauphin drew up, and then in its general laws, the spirit of which has been transmitted to us in the Discourse on Universal History; geography learned “while playing and making imaginary journeys”; philosophy; and finally the sciences, brilliantly presented,—with such a programme, and under such a master, it seems that the Dauphin ought to have been a student of the highest rank; but he remained a mediocre pupil, “absorbed,” to use Saint Simon’s expression, “in his own fat and gloom.”

It must certainly be acknowledged that, notwithstanding his excellent intentions, Bossuet was in part responsible for the fact that these results were insufficient, or, rather, nil. He did not know how “to condescend,” as Montaigne says, “to the boyish ways of his pupil.” In dealing with him he proceeded on too high a plane. “The austere genius of Bossuet,” says Henry Martin, “did not know how to become small with the small.” Bossuet lacked in flexibility and tact, precisely the qualities that characterized Fénelon. Bossuet, in education, as in everything else, is grandeur, noble and sublime bearing; Fénelon, as preceptor, is address, insinuating grace. That which dominates in the one is authority, a majesty almost icy; that which constitutes the charm of the other is versatility, a persuasive gentleness, a penetrating tenderness.

To be just, however, it must be added that the faults were not all on Bossuet’s side. In that education, stamped with failure, the pupil was the great culprit, with his ungrateful and rebellious nature. “My lord has much spirit,” said a courtier, “but he has it concealed.” For one not a courtier, does it not amount to the same thing to have one’s spirit concealed and to have none at all?